Extended Mockingjay Epilogue
by Casey Redbird
Summary: What I think should have been included. Everything after the 3 dots is me.


**Epilogue**

They play in the Meadow. The dancing girl with the dark hair and blue eyes. The boy with blond curls and gray eyes, struggling to keep up with her on his chubby toddler legs. It took five, ten, fifteen years for me to agree. But Peeta wanted them so badly. When I first felt her stirring inside of me, I was consumed with a terror that felt as old as life itself. Only the joy of holding her in my arms could tame it. Carrying him was a little easier, but not much.

The questions are just beginning. The arenas have been completely destroyed, the memorials built, there are no more Hunger Games. But they teach about them at school, and the girl knows we played a role in them. How can I tell them about that world without frightening them to death? My children, who take the words of the song for granted:

_Deep in the meadow, under the willow _

_A bed of grass, a soft green pillow_

_Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes_

_And when again they open, the sun will rise. _

_Here it's safe, here it's warm _

_Here the daises guard you from every harm _

_Here your dreams are sweet, and tomorrow brings them true _

_Here is the place where I love you._

My children, who don't know they play on a graveyard.

Peeta says it will be okay. We have each other. And the book. We can make them understand in a way that will make them braver. But one day I'll have to explain about my nightmares. Why they come. Why they won't ever really go away.

I'll tell them how I survive it. I'll tell them that on bad mornings, it feels impossible to take pleasure in anything because I'm afraid it could be taken away. That's when I make a list in my head of every act of goodness I've seen someone do. It's like a game. Repetitive. Even a little tedious after more than twenty years.

But there are much worse games to play.

…

I sit straight up in bed, paralyzed with terror. My hair is matted to my forehead. I didn't braid it last night, just left it down. I rake through it for a while before I give up and climb out of the bed.

Something about this morning feels new. Different. I pull on my boots and my hunting jacket. Turning towards the closet, I pull out my bow and arrow. They feel so old in my hands, like they are going to snap, though they've been in here for at least ten years. It's the first time I've touched them since Haymitch returned them to me. As I wrap my hands around the bow, it comes alive. "Good night," I tell it, and the humming stops. I don't need all that power for what I'm doing.

Turning back to my bed, I glance at Peeta. He's wrapped in blankets, his eyes closed, snoring soundly. Good. He would try to stop me. But I can't resist going over and kissing him on the forehead softly, touching his shoulder. "I love you," I whisper.

I slide the wedding band off my finger and place it on the stand beside the bed. Taking one last look at Peeta, I put my bow and arrows on my shoulder and my hands in my pocket. As I walk through the house, I pass the childrens' rooms. They both sleep soundly, completely oblivious to my being awake. I hesitate, feeling that inane terror once again to run to them and protect them, and then I shake it off. They do not need protecting. Not anymore. I turn and head into the cold.

Summer is finally beginning to set in, so the chill isn't as terrible as it normally would be. I head through Victor's Village, passing Haymitch's house. I resist the urge to wake him up and drag him with me. No, this is something I have to do alone.

Gale might have come with me, if he were still here. But no. I haven't seen him in almost twelve years. He came to visit me once, updating me on his position and how he's becoming an even better hunter now. But it wasn't the same. The years have aged us, torn the girl and boy from the Seam apart from each other. I was almost relieved when he left. Because every time I look at him, I see my little sister being blown to bits.

As I walk to the forest, I think of another person I haven't seen. My mother. We weep together over the phone, though her updates are more positive now than negative. I think it's because she's settling into her old age. You can tell. Soon, she will join Prim and the others. I just don't know when.

It takes me a while, but I finally make it. To the Meadow. The place where my father used to sing 'The Hanging Tree' and the mockingjays used to fall silent to listen. The place where I grew up. While there are a fair amount of bad memories connected with this place, the good far outweigh them. A baritone chorus of laughter as a little girl trips over a thicket of katniss, the plant for which she was named. A kiss under the twilight. Watching my children, who remind me so of myself, play here, so happy and so ignorant and oblivious to my pain.

Taking a deep breath, I pull an arrow and slide it into place in my bow. I scan the forest. It's eerily quiet, and for a long moment I think I'm wrong about my coming here. Maybe there's nothing left for me. Maybe this is a piece of my past I should just leave behind. Forget about. Move on. Just when I'm turning to leave, I hear the snapping of a twig.

I spin around, my eyes on the forest before me. I know that sound when I hear it. I aim high, towards the trees. I dig my feet into the ground, for proper stance. The black object comes into view and I let my arrow fly.

I miss the bird. The arrow sails over its head. I notch another and am about to fire when I recognize the bird. My body goes limp. My eyes widen.

It's a mockingjay.

Slowly, I release the arrow and place it back with the rest. I watch the mockingjay and it watches me. Neither one of us moves. Finally, I realize what it wants me to do. And for the first time in a long time, I clear my throat and sing:

"_Are you, are you _

_Coming to the tree_

_Where they strung up a man they say murdered three? _

_Strange things did happen here _

_No stranger would it be _

_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree."_

The mockingjay stares at me, knowing there's more.

"_Are you, are you _

_Coming to the tree_

_Where the dead man called out for his love to flee? _

_Strange things did happen here _

_No stranger would it be _

_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree."_

The mockingjay flies downward, closer to me, eager to hear the next verse.

"_Are you, are you _

_Coming to the tree_

_Where I told you to run, so we'd both be free?_

_Strange things did happen here _

_No stranger would it be_

_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree._

"_Are you, are you _

_Coming to the tree _

_Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me_

_Strange things did happen here _

_No stranger would it be _

_If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree."_

The mockingjay repeats the song in a clear, high voice. I brush the tears from my eyes but am too late to catch the one that has fallen to my lips, so I lick it away with my tongue. It tastes like salt, like the saltwater from District 4, the water that reminds me so much of Finnick. Finnick, who was one of the few people besides Gale who truly understood me.

And so does the mockingjay, because even as it sings, it does not take those big, alert eyes away from me. As it sings, I think of Peeta, whose words still to this day can turn a crowd to his side. I think of Gale, whose fire was too much for me, who would have burned me out. I think of Finnick, who was so lost in his love for Annie that he couldn't concentrate on much else. I think of Cinna, who believed in me, who likened me to the creature above me. And most importantly, I think of Prim. Who will always live on in my heart. Who is here now, singing The Hanging Tree. Who still needs to tuck her tail in.

But she cannot stay forever. Once the mockingjay finishes, we exchange one more brief glance before it turns and flies away, leaving me alone in the clearing.

I suppose the odds were never in my favor. But now, I have healed. I have finally come full circle. And while the nightmarish aspects of my life will never leave me, I think I might finally know how to handle them.

The girl on fire might have lost some of her flame. But she still burns on. And if she burns, you burn with her.

**The End**


End file.
